Destination Royale
by mishkidda
Summary: Battle Royale x Final Destination crossover. AU. Class B vs. Death's Design. Chapter 10 up, in which Kiriyama strugles with his new conscience, Kawada finally makes a revelation, and Motobuchi gets rubbed out. Only 29 students remaining!
1. Chapter 1

**DESTINATION ROYALE**

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A BR/Final Destination crossover

By Mishkidda

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_Final Destination _is a film that deals with a group of students who escape an air crash in which they should have been killed, upsetting death's design – so they get killed off by freak cases of bad luck, one by one, in the order that they would have died...

Warnings: AU. Violence. Swearing. Angst. Sex. Multiple character deaths (surprise surprise). If you're too young to read the BR manga you shouldn't be reading this.

Legal: Don't own any of the source material, fic written for fun, not for profit.

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**List of Battle Royale Contestants** (in the order they died in the manga)

Kuninobu Yoshitoki

Fujiyoshi Fumiyo

Tendo Mayumi

Akamatsu Yoshio

Eto Megumi

Kuronaga Hiroshi

Sasagawa Ryuhei

Kanai Izumi

Numai Mitsuru

Ogawa Sakura

Yamamoto Kazuhiko

Ooki Tatsumichi

Motobuchi Kyoichi

Kusaka Yumiko

Kitano Yukiko

Kuramoto Yoji

Yahagi Yoshimi

Niida Kazushi

Chigusa Takako

Minami Kaori

Tsukioka Sho

Shimizu Hirono

Iijama Keita

Seto Yutaka

Mimura Shinji

Hatagami Tadakatsu

Takiguchi Yuichiro

Oda Toshinori

Nakagawa Yuka

Matsui Chisato

Utsumi Yukie

Noda Satomi

Tanizawa Haruka

Sakaki Yuko

Inada Mizuho

Kotohiki Kayoko

Sugimura Hiroki

Soma Mitsuko

Kiriyama Kazuo

Kawada Shogo

-

**Part I**

-

Mr. Yonemi Kamon sighed, at the edge of his patience, and steepled his hands on top of the desk.

"Are you saying," he said, "that they're not going to make it?"

"Looking that way, sir," the soldier answered, trying to answer as briskly as possible so as not to further aggravate Mr. Kamon's already black mood: "It's gridlock in both directions. The contestants' bus is caught in the middle of it – and the police want them to evacuate the area until we know the rest of the road is structurally sound."

It was now 7pm, Program start time minus 5 hours. When a bridge unexpectedly collapsed in the western part of the Greater East Asia Republic, taking many commuters and goods lorries down to their watery graves, there was nowhere for the traffic to go, and the bus carrying the students of Class B could not reroute because of the congestion. It was stuck in the traffic jam from hell, with a broken bridge between the contestants and their island and no way of getting them out without arousing suspicion.

Terrorist activity was the first thought of many in the mainland Program HQ. It seemed improbable that today of all days the bridge should fail, but the technicians checked and re-checked and there had been no leakage of data. The identity of the class selected was known only to those with clearance to know, and whatever the reason for the collapse, it wasn't related to the fact that the bus containing the Program contestants would be caught in the crushing delays. Program Co-ordinator Kamon had been just about to go on the parental notification tour, a part of the Program he particularly relished. It was like a pre-game sweetener, and some of the grief-stricken mothers could be so... _accommodating..._

"Some of the parents have already come to pick up the kids," the soldier continued. "It's falling apart out there. To attempt to go in there and extract the contestants would be..."

"Yes, yes." Kamon waved him away irritably. "We will cancel. Have my car called, and I want a dossier on the backup class on my desk by eight tomorrow morning."

"Sir." A salute, and the soldier was gone.

Kamon sighed again. He'd been so worked up about this year's Program as well. All those lovely little boys and girls dying for the State. And he'd be alone in his hotel tonight watching porn instead. Yes, he'd console himself, and within a fortnight another class of unsuspecting schoolchildren would be participating in their places. Lucky bastards, having that happen. It might not seem like good luck now, but if they know what might've happened, they'd be considering themselves very lucky indeed.

Kamon laughed at himself. Luck implied fate, a prefabricated design behind everything that happened, and as a Party man, he didn't believe in any superstitious nonsense like that.

Fate didn't care what Party men like Yonemi Kamon thought.

-

The bus doors hissed open, filling the stale air with the acrid whiff of traffic fumes.

"All right, you can come out. Make your way to the designated collection zone," the traffic policeman shouted down the aisle, to be met with weak cheering from Class B.

"At fucking last," groaned Hirono Shimizu (Female Student #10), lifting her head from Yoshimi's lap where she'd been catching a catnap. Mitsuko Soma (Female Student #11) stretched, blowing on her newly-crimson nails, while Yoshimi Yahagi (Female Student #21) strained to reach above her head to get their bags down from the rack.

Yoshitoki "Nobu" Kuninobu (Male Student #7) expressed similar sentiments to his best friend, earning himself a glare from their teacher. Yoshi had never learned to keep his voice down. He punched the air energetically. "Come on, Shu! We can get the bus... still in time for Rock Hero Hour if we run..."

Shuya Nanahara (Male Student #15) hadn't expected to be able to listen to his favourite pirate radio show this week, its coverage area being centred around the town. It would be one good thing out of a very bad day. Their trip being cancelled sucked, but he was sure they'd still find a use for his stashed bottle of whisky and pocket radio.

"If we run..." Shuya looked out of the window at the designated collection point, marked out by red traffic cones and policemen in hi-vis jackets. Already, some parents had come to meet their children to escort them away from the site of the disaster. He could see them through the grimy windows – Kaori's, Megumi's, even a company car to collect Toshinori Oda.

A momentary sadness took him. No-one would come to pick him or Nobu up. Ms. Ryoko was the nearest thing they had to a family, and she'd be far too busy running the orphanage – she couldn't just leave on a moment's notice.

Nobu grabbed his arm, shaking him from his thoughts. "Then let's run!" he said, pulling Shuya from his seat.

"See you, Noriko," he managed to call over his shoulder. "Thanks for the cookies..."

Noriko Nakagawa (Female Student #15) called after him, "You're welcome! Any time!" but her voice was lost to the din as all 42 students tried to leave the bus at once.

Shogo Kawada (Boys #5) stood up, and punched his seat hard enough to startle Noriko, two rows away. He yanked his bag down from the rack and strode off. She stared after him, wondering what his attitude problem was. Class trips were fun, but she'd never seen anyone so disappointed about one being cancelled.

Shuya and Nobu grabbed their bags from the overhead racks, and, with Nobu yelling, "Coming through!" they hurtled down the aisle and out the doors. Nobu got down first, temporarily distracted by the smoke and dust ahead, where the bridge had collapsed, tipping thousands of tonnes of concrete, tarmac and cars into the river.

"Check it out..." said Nobu.

"Better not get too close in case the rest of it goes too," said Shuya. "Come on, Rock Hero Hour, remember?"

"Could I forget?" said Nobu, grinning his signature Nobu grin.

Perhaps it was the din of hundreds of stranded motorists, engines running, cell phones, sirens, crumbling rubble of the bridge, the roaring of the river – but for some reason or other, neither Shuya or Nobu heard the car coming. It seemed to happen in slow motion. Nobu, who was standing further from the bus than Shuya, turned a fraction of a second too late. The speeding car slammed into his legs, which snapped under him like matchsticks, and his body pirouetted over the car's bonnet, smashing into the windscreen, leaving it webbed with spidery cracks and a bloom of scarlet blood.

Nobu's body sailed through the air, hit the ground roughly, cracking his head open on the tarmac, and bounced, limbs now doll-like and uncontrolled. He came to rest a metre or so down the road, lying motionless on the asphalt, a pool of blood spreading beneath him.

The car swerved too late and ploughed into the side of a delivery lorry in the next lane of traffic. Suddenly, there was no more noise.

"I think he hit a boy!" someone called out.

Shuya found his voice.

"Nobu!" he screamed. Dropping to his knees, he threw his arms around Yoshitoki, cradling his shattered body. Warm blood soaked into his school trousers and limbs twisted at odd angles jutted into him, but he didn't notice. "Nobu, come on, don't do this!" he sobbed, holding his best friend's head in his hands. "Change, combine, remember?"

He was soon surrounded by classmates, bystanders, emergency personnel. "Don't move him," a paramedic ordered. "His neck could be broken. He must be kept still."

Mutely, Shuya lifted Yoshitoki's body so the man could see the shattered skull, the blood flow slowing now, the open, startled eyes. There was no chance that Yoshitoki Kuninobu was alive.

"Come on, son," said a female paramedic, her warm hands on Shuya's shoulders, pulling him away. "There's nothing you can do for him now. Come away, let us do our job."

Shuya stared as Yoshitoki, quite dead, was strapped to a stretcher and rushed away in an ambulance which picked its way between the lanes of traffic, sirens wailing for no reason. Noriko came to stand at his side, tears streaming down her face, and it seemed natural to take her hand.

"_Shu... I think I found a girl I kinda like..."_

"'_Kinda'? She 'kinda' got a name?"_

Noriko Nakagawa. Cute and kindhearted and right up Yoshi's street. Shuya couldn't look at her. Not now.

For a week, Class B were excused from school, so they could attend Yoshi's funeral. In a way, Shuya thought, lying on his bed in what had been their shared room, they'd all wanted a week off school, and they'd got it. Fate was not without a sense of humour.

-

1 eliminated, 41 to go...


	2. Chapter 2

A week after Yoshitoki's death, Class B returned to school, for the most part shaken and quiet, and endured multiple lectures on road safety. Mr. Hayashida talked to Shuya privately, kindly, telling him if he felt he needed more time off, he only had to say so. Shuya declined. Although school was the last thing he felt like at the moment, being around the orphanage, in his room still full of Yoshi's things, would be ten times worse.

He stared into space. Losing Yoshi was the worst thing that could have happened to him. Ever since his mother died, Yoshi had been his best friend. Every good memory he had, Yoshi was there. Not that he lacked other friends, of course, but everything seemed to fade into unimportance faced with the crushing fact that Yoshi was gone. Even Shinji couldn't cheer him up, so he left him alone for a while. Everyone left him alone, as if death was contagious.

Shuya rubbed his eyes and felt moisture. On the brink of tears in class again, not following the lesson, just thinking of Yoshi.

He barely noticed as a note was passed in front of him, from Mayumi Tendo (Female Student #14) to Fumiyo Fujiyoshi (Female Student #18). Fumiyo glanced around, checking the teacher was not looking her way and opened it.

_Fumiyo,_

_Want to sleep over at mine tonight?_

_Want to show you the kittens_

_Mayumi xx_

Covertly, Fumiyo composed a reply and passed it back to Shuya, who shunted it along to Mayumi, and he thought no further of it.

The next day, both girls were dead.

It had been the shower, they said. A minute leak in one of the pipes had led to a tiny rivulet of water dripping down into the wall cavity. Throughout the day, while the girls were at school, a pool formed. While they were eating dinner with Mayumi's parents, it overflowed, and as they were petting the baby kittens who suckled beneath Mayumi's cat, the water made contact with a circuit, whose main connection had come slightly loose.

Fumiyo, as the guest, was offered the first shower. She turned on the water, let it run hot, and stepped into the cubicle, letting the warm water course over her body. The circuit was completed in a nanosecond, the metal parts became live, and the current made contact with the water.

It was thought that the jolt of electricity didn't kill her instantly, but the head wound she acquired by bashing her head on the soap dish knocked her unconscious, and slumped in the shower cubicle, face down, she drowned on the hot foamy water. The fuse blew and the house was plunged into darkness. This wasn't unusually alarming. Power surges were common in the Greater East Asia Republic, since an isolationist economic policy had left them without the necessary resources to modernise the national grid. Mayumi's father assumed nothing was amiss and fixed the fuse.

A few minutes later, alerted by the growing pool of water pouring from under the bathroom door, Mayumi came to see what had happened to her friend.

Fumiyo lay curled in the shower cubicle, her face soapy and swollen, her body pink as poached salmon from the constant hot water flowing over her. Mayumi panicked, screamed, fled the bathroom and ran to get help, but the tiled floor was wet and soapy under her flipflops, and she slipped and fell head-over-heels down the stairs. Her neck was broken, and they said she probably died instantly.

Another day off school, this time, a double funeral to attend. A reporter from the local paper showed up, wanting to ask the students questions. Most were too shocked to give coherent replies. An article under the heading "The Curse of Class B" appeared in the middle of the paper the following day, scanty on detail, but speculating that the deaths of Yoshitoki Kuninobu, Fumiyo Fujiyoshi and Mayumi Tendo, all occurring within a fortnight, were symptoms of a terrible case of bad luck that had afflicted the class ever since the day of the bridge collapse.

Yuko Sakaki withdrew from school, her mother citing severe emotional distress caused by the deaths of three of her classmates within such a short space of time. The Kiriyama gang members, as well as Mitsuko Soma and her associates, were rarely seen in class any more, Mr. Hayashida being too distracted to pay much attention to attendance.

Student representatives Yukie Utsumi (Girls #2) and Kyochi Motobuchi (Boys #20) organised a day of mourning, in which the whole school gathered to remember and celebrate the lives of Yoshitoki, Fumiyo and Mayumi. Their favourite music was played, their favourite food shared, and their parents, brothers and sisters came in to speak. Shogo Kawada skipped school on that day, but listened from a hill overlooking the gym, and thought it was a little saccharine and depressing, but the intentions were basically good. _These things happen, _he thought._ Life's dangerous, sometimes these things happen. Deal. Move on._

Sitting at one side, watching the other students, Shuya thought of the note passed between Fumiyo and Mayumi, the day they died. The note _he _touched. He thought of Yoshi grabbing his arm.

_No, _he thought. _Don't lose it, Shu. You don't have the 'touch of death' or anything Sci-Fi like that. Just bad luck..._

"Nanahara-kun?"

It was Noriko Nakagawa. "May I sit here?" she asked.

He moved his bag off the seat, even though there was plenty of seats in the room she could have chosen.

"Sorry," he said, "I'm not feeling too talkative at the minute."

"It's OK," said Noriko. "I... saw you were on your own, and I thought... I'll just keep you company. You don't have to talk if you don't want to."

"I..." Shuya frowned. It would be easy to open up to Noriko, sitting there receptive and listening, but did he want to burden her with this?

What the hell, he thought.

"I think I'm losing my mind," he said. "I keep thinking that it's all connected. First Yoshi, now Mayumi and Fumiyo... I mean, I know they were all accidents, so how could it be? But it just looks like too much of a coincidence"

Noriko was still watching and listening. He felt quite embarrassed.

"I don't even know what I'm saying. Sorry. It's all this _Curse of Class B _stuff... got me so hyped, I'm imagining things."

"No," said Noriko, "I think they're connected too. I think... it couldn't just be chance. I just hope this is the end of it..."

"It has to be. Fuck, we've had enough disasters in the last week to set us up for a lifetime," he said. "Let's... just be careful. I don't know what to believe... but yeah. I hope so too."

_It couldn't be chance._

Shogo Kawada lit another cigarette, frowning deeply. Keiko would, of course, have believed it right away, if she knew what he knew. She wouldn't have been so quick to doubt. But a fatal bad-luck curse afflicting a ninth-grade class? That was B-movie shit, and he knew it.

Yoshitoki, Fumiyo, Mayumi. Three down in two weeks. What were the odds? Especially given the things Shogo knew.

He shook off the ash from the end of his smoke and sighed. Political assassination? Some sort of government conspiracy to kill all the contestants? He thought it unlikely, especially since no information had been leaked, and another class was due to go on the Program in a fortnight. It was far too late to get _another _transfer. Hell, now he'd have to wait til _next year_... he'd be an old man before he could exact his revenge.

Some dark force of nature hewing down his classmates, the class that should have been on the Program?

Keiko would have believed...

Shogo needed more convincing.

-

3 eliminated, 39 to go...


	3. Chapter 3

The end of the school day. With the final bell, freedom descended on Shiroiwa Junior High School, and the substitute teacher (Mr. Hayashida being on stress-related sick leave) yielded up the keys to the castle and let them out.

Yoshio Akamatsu (Male Student #1) dreaded the end of school. In class, he was safe. Outside...

The kick caught him squarely in the ribs. Sobbing, Akamatsu rolled, curling up in the foetal position to protect himself. Ryuhei Sasagawa (Male Student #10) laughed. "Hurt your man-tits?" he called out, to guffaws from the gang. "'S like being kicked in the balls, 'cept his are higher up..."

Hiroshi Kuronaga (Male Student #9) grabbed him by the front of his gakuran and dragged him to his knees. Short, stocky, and bordering obese, Kuronaga nonetheless packed considerable strength into his chunky frame, and could kick the taller, heavier Akamatsu's ass in a fight. "Going to remember your money tomorrow, doofus?" he growled.

"That's _our _money," corrected Ryuhei, looming over Yoshio. For a boy with his appearance, lavish curls of golden hair and an almost-pretty face, he could look quite menacing when he wanted to.

"I promise!" sniffed Akamatsu. "Everything you wanted..."

"Good," said Mitsuru Numai (Male Student #17), observing. "Lay off him, now. Let him run home and get us our money. And if he forgets..." Numai came up close, breathing cigarette smoke at Akamatsu, "he's gonna need a whole lot _more _money to pay for new man tit implants!"

The three fell about laughing. Sasagawa gave Akamatsu a final kick to send him fleeing, his big limbs ungainly as he ran for it. Crying as well. Making the gentle giant Yoshio Akamatsu start blubbing was almost pitifully easy.

A small bluish metal cylindrical object bounced on the tarmac, and rolled. Sasagawa glanced at it, shrugged, and turned away.

Akamatsu ran, tears running down his plump face. It was getting harder and harder to dream up reasons why he needed money from his parents – school books, school trips, new taxes on school lunches... maybe he'd have to get a job. His chest burned at the unfairness of it all, and he gasped for breath from the crying.

No... this wasn't crying...

It was...

Akamatsu stopped running when he reached the canal, feeling the familiar wheeze, the tightness in his chest, as if he couldn't take in enough oxygen. His big shoulders heaved as he rooted through his bag, looking for the little blue cylinder...

The little blue cylinder...

...that wasn't there.

Cold fear took Yoshio Akamatsu. _No, don't panic_, he thought, _it makes it worse. _He _knew _he had it with him. He was always very careful to put it in his bag every morning. Perhaps it'd slipped out of one of the pockets while he was searching. Dropping to his hands and knees, he scrabbled about on the ground, his breathing getting worse all the while. It _had _to be here! Akamatsu clutched his chest, clawing at the dust with his other hand. _Where was it_?

A cyclist whirred past him. Akamatsu instinctively flung his arms up to protect himself, lost his balance, and toppled into the canal. Gasping for air, he instead caught a mouthful of cool green water, algae and mildew. His limbs seemed to weigh ten tonnes, dragging him down to the bottom, and his waterlogged clothing didn't help.

His struggle with the water was brief. By the time he was found by his worried parents, face-down in the canal, he had been dead for hours.

-

Megumi Eto (Female Student #3) took the metro home from school, as she lived in a far-out suburb. While Yoshio Akamatsu was fighting for his life in the water, Megumi stood on the platform, nibbling a chocolate bar and waiting for her train.

The woman came past her, stepping over the yellow line, pausing with her feet on the very edge of the platform. Long black hair obscured her face, and her white dress was muddy and rain-spattered. Megumi shivered, thinking of Sadako, the ghost down the well in _The Ring_, which she had watched a few weeks previously at a sleepover at Mizuho's. Megumi didn't think she was cosplaying. She looked skinny and dirty and generally neglectful of herself. Other passengers edged away from her, so Megumi did too.

The woman looked around, then said in a high, shrill voice, "Right, I'm going to jump now. All you bastards brought me to this."

Everyone moved back. Megumi stared in horror. The train was due any minute... oh God, she couldn't look.

"Miss, don't do it!" called one young man. "You have so much to live for!"

"Not now I don't," she said, laughing humourlessly. "My life is a black pit of despair."

And she jumped.

Megumi cried out and covered her eyes. There were noises of alarm and distress from the other passengers, and the announcement of the train's approach over the tannoy system went largely unnoticed.

"Ow," came a voice from the rail tracks.

Everyone edged towards the platform edge, peering over, as if afraid of what they might see.

The woman lay on her side, looking a little sheepish.

"I think I've broken my ankle," she said. "Ooh... I don't really want to die. I think it might have been one of those attention-getting things. Need to get my meds adjusted... aah." She winced, flexing the twisted foot. "Can't move. Anyone care to lend a hand?"

"The train's coming!" said the young man. It was. The light was visible at the end of the tunnel and the tracks shook. Fear flashed in the woman's eyes.

Megumi dropped to her knees, reaching out to her over the edge. "Here, grab my hand!" she cried. "Quickly or you'll get hit by the train!"

The woman extended a limp hand towards Megumi, but shook her head.

"No, I can't reach..." she said sadly. "Well, that's me done for."

The tracks shook under the thunderous wheels hurtling towards them.

"There's no time!" said the man. "If only someone could help her..."

"Someone fetch a station attendant!"

"Ugh, this is going to be messy..."

Megumi didn't exactly know why she did it, but she was suddenly down on the tracks, grabbing the woman by the arm and dragging her towards the platform. "Just... fucking... try!" Megumi yelled, hauling her up onto the level. Hands reached out to grasp her and pull her up to safety. _Yes! _thought Megumi. Just in time, she grabbed onto a service ladder, hauling herself up after them. _She was going to make it... it'd be close, but she could do it..._

Then, an old hinge gave way, and another. Perhaps nobody had used the ladder in some time and it couldn't take the weight. With a cry of dismay, Megumi Eto toppled backwards.

_That's me done for, _was her last thought, echoing the words of the would-be suicide, who stood on the platform and stared at her with hollow eyes.

Then she was hit by a train.

Kyoichi Motobuchi (Male Student #20) sat alone by the radio, hugging his knees and shivering. They had just announced that a schoolgirl, identified as Megumi Eto from Class B, 9th grade, Shiroiwa Jr High, had been killed in an accident on the subway. He hadn't heard about Akamatsu yet, but he didn't need to. One could have been a simple misfortune. Three, freakish bad luck, but not outside the realms of possibility. But four... not four. It was just too improbable. The statistics were against it, and Motobuchi always sided with the numbers.

From his bag he took a small notebook and scribbled something in illegible curly handwriting. It was a list. Yoshitoki Kuninobu, Fumiyo Fujiyoshi, Mayumi Tendo, Megumi Eto. 4 over 42 by 100... ten per cent of the class, if you round it up. _Ten per cent, _he wrote out long-hand. Underneath, in heavy, desperate strokes that almost tore the paper, he carved out the words:

_NOT CHANCE. __WHO'S NEXT?_

-

5 eliminated, 37 to go...


	4. Chapter 4

"So," said Kyoichi Motobuchi (Male Student #20), "we're agreed, then?"

Keita Iijama (Male Student #2), Kazuhiko Yamamoto (Male Student #21) and Toshinori Oda (Male Student #5) all nodded glumly. Iijama handed over a wad of dog-eared money to Motobuchi.

"I'm in," he said. "Hell, what have I got to lose but my stake?"

"Just so long as it works," sniffed Oda, putting away his own wallet, black leather and embossed with his initials. "Since _my _stakeis by far the largest, I expect to see results."

"I promise you," said Kazuhiko Yamamoto, "this lady's the real deal. She told mine and Sakura's fortune at my aunt's birthday party."

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence. Eyes were rolled. "I swear, everything she said came true," he finished lamely.

"Normally I don't go in for this... sort of thing," said Motobuchi. "Just seems like another way to part idiots from their money."

"Exactly," said Oda. "A bit of fun for the chattering classes."

"But it can't be coincidence," continued the class president. "Freak accident after freak accident. That's five down, all in our class. And worse, it's speeding up. It got Yoshio and Megumi on the same day. We need to figure this out... fast. Our only hope is..."

"Confront it on its own terms," finished Kazuhiko.

The four boys stared at the doorbell, surrounded by tacky moon and stars stickers, a small plaque advertising her services as a precognitive and medium.

"Well, it's not going to ring itself," said Motobuchi, and pressed the bell. A death-knell donging echoed throughout the house. All four boys jumped.

"Come in," came her voice, then, through the letter box.

She didn't look like they expected she would. Sharply dressed, in her mid-thirties, lipsticked and businesslike, she demanded the money upfront, then asked what service they required.

Motobuchi acted as group spokesman. "Um... we need your help," he said.

"With?"

"There is… a problem in our class. I know it sounds weird, impossible, but…"

She nodded, cutting him off. "Get to the point, if you will."

Motobuchi produced a sheet of paper from his bag. "People in our class keep dying in accidents. Five in the last month, actually. We believe that the deaths are connected. Maybe it's a serial killer or... _or. _They're – _we're – _dying at a rate of about two a week, give or take…"

Oda interrupted, "We want to know who's next."

"So we can protect them," added Kazuhiko.

The psychic studied the paper. It was a register list of Class B.

"You want me to put them in order for you?" she said.

"Yes. If you could," said Motobuchi. He glanced at the others, their faces as tense as his own. They had decided not to cross out the names of Yoshitoki, Fumiyo, Mayumi, Yoshio and Megumi, to see if she got them in the right order. Unless she was closely following the story on the news, they reasoned, it seemed unlikely that she would remember, in chronological order, the names of local high-school kids killed in apparently unconnected accidents. Unconnected by law, as after the initial press hint at a 'Curse of Class B', the local paper had been given a warning that no further supernatural stories were to be published.

"I can," she said. "Whether I should is another question. Do you really want to know? It can mess with your head, knowing your fate is _literally _written... knowing, that for some reason, death is chasing you, has your number, knows where you live..."

"All right," said Kazuhiko, shakily, "we get the picture."

"This information itself has the power of life and death. Knowledge can be dangerous, and can certainly cause people to act in a different way from how they would have done without knowing. It could put them in harm's way, even. I'd be careful who you share this with. So, that said, you still want proof that you live in a predetermined universe?"

The four boys nodded. Iijama wondered what she meant, but kept quiet.

"All right," she said. "You paid my fee, I'll provide the service. Just… don't say I didn't warn you."

She took a clean sheet of paper and a fountain pen, and closing her eyes for a moment in concentration, began to write. Her neat script danced across the page.

_Kuninobu Yoshitoki_

_Fujiyoshi Fumiyo_

_Tendo Mayumi_

_Akamatsu Yoshio_

_Eto Megumi_

One hundred per cent correct. Motobuchi began to sweat. The other boys moved fractionally closer to get a better look at the list as it was being written. Blithely, she carried on adding names.

_Kuronaga Hiroshi_

_Sasagawa Ryuhei_

"The gangsters," muttered Toshinori Oda. "Huh."

_Kanai Izumi_

_Numai Mitsuru_

_Ogawa Sakura_

Kazuhiko's eyes went wide as he recognised the first character of his girlfriend's name. "No..." he protested. "Sakura... why?"

_Yamamoto Kazuhiko_

The others stared at him. Cut off mid-sentence, Kazuhiko went very pale.

_Ooki Tatsumichi_

_Motobuchi Kyoichi_

_Kusaka Yumiko_

_Kitano Yukiko_

Motobuchi tried to conceal his trembling hands by stuffing them up his sleeves. Dead before Yuki and Yumi? How was that fair? He should die last... if he had to die at all...

The grim litany went on. Iijama's weird little giggle after seeing his own name after Hirono's sounded forced. According to the neat, infallible script, Toshinori Oda would be the last survivor of their four, falling between Yuichiro Takiguchi and, oddly, most of Yukie Utsumi's group. _How... vulgar, _he thought. Apes on one side and slut-monkeys on the other. _We'll see what can be done about that…_

She finished writing, doing the final name with a flourish, then put down her pen. Blowing the ink dry, she folded up the list of death and handed it to Kyoichi Motobuchi.

"That do you, young man?" she said.

"Yes, ma'am," said Oda, plucking the paper from Motobuchi's unresisting fingers. "That'll do nicely."

"It's not strictly binding, of course," she said. "This order, I mean… you do have some measure of free will. Death's design has been upset before, as you've discovered, and will be upset again. You can avert the exact moment, or perhaps save someone else... but whether or not you manage to shuffle the order or not, you _will _die, as you were meant to. That part is unavoidable."

Iijama swallowed. "Unavoidable?" he squeaked.

The psychic lit a cigarette and sighed. "I can't say I envy you…"

-

The four conspirators had made a copy each of the list, swearing secrecy, and gone their separate ways. Kazuhiko Yamamoto had not known exactly what to do. He was frightened, really frightened, for the first time in his life, and he felt completely alone. There was no-one who could share the fear with him – not his parents, not his friends, who he didn't really trust to keep the list secret. As Toshinori had argued, to spread news of the list prematurely would cause a panic, and who wanted to be responsible for that? So, he went to the house of the only person he knew he could trust, the person he loved, and agreed to show her the list.

"I'm sorry, Sakura," he said, placing the evil page on upturned hands, for her to take if she wanted to. "I think it's for real."

Sakura Ogawa (Female Student #4) took the paper. She hesitated, then slowly opened it, her lips moving as she read through the names. It wasn't long before she found her own.

"Me, then you?" she said, her voice soft and sad.

"Yeah," said Kazuhiko.

"At least we'll be together," she said. "I don't know what's going on, but I know that after Mitsuru dies, it'll try to get us." She began to tremble, the page fluttering slightly. "I… don't want to die like that. Not like Yoshitoki, or… or Megumi…" She pressed a tissue to her eyes to catch the tears. "Can't anyone help us?"

Kazuhiko opened his arms to her, holding her close to him in the gloom. "No-one can," he said. "But… she said, we have free will, right? We can choose the time, screw around with the order, if we know it's coming. I'd rather die here – now – with you, instead of waiting for it to catch up with us. If we do it now, with four people still ahead of us on the list, we'll upset the order. This – it'll all end with us. If you want."

Sakura locked eyes with him. She considered it.

"You're right," she said, very quietly. "Here, now. With you."

-

5 eliminated, 37 to go...


	5. Chapter 5

"Pay the fee," announced Toshinori Oda, "and know your destiny."

The little booth would have looked tacky, if set up by anyone other than a member of the Oda family. Draped in shadowy fabric, the set-up looked as ominous and sinister as Toshinori himself. Finely turned out in funereal black, he sat with his hands steepled atop the dark velvet, offering information from the list of death – for a moderate fee. Motobuchi and the others had promised each other that no copies would be made, but none of them had said anything about sharing information from the list. Their loss, his business opportunity. Sure, he knew street hawking was beneath him, but it was as daddy said – never pass up a good chance to make money, even if it means getting your hands dirty.

Private security guards kept watch discreetly over the operation, keeping curious (non-paying) bystanders at bay. When the information for sale concerned a matter of life and death like this, it was not unreasonable to believe that some might use violence to obtain it. As it was, the rumour that Oda subtly put about spread round school like wildfire, and nearly everyone in Class B had turned up to find out their ranking.

"Hm?" said Oda. "Ah, Miss. Takako Chigusa. Step forward. The fee, please?"

Scowling, Takako dug in her purse and extracted Oda's required fee – fairly pricey for a piece of information that would soon be public domain – but reasonable as far as she was concerned, as it wouldn't be widely known until she was dead, and she'd rather be aware of her fate before it happened to her.

Toshinori retreated into the tent and consulted the list, waited an appropriately long time to build suspense, then re-emerged.

"You're number twenty," he pronounced. "Congratulations."

"Twenty, huh?" she said, looking a little taken aback. That was perhaps sooner than she'd hoped. Without a word she turned and strode off.

"Next! Ah, Yoji and Yoshimi? I'm not running a couple's discount, you know. The fee, if you will..."

Someone was elbowing their way through the crowd. Irritably, Toshinori turned. _Now what? _he thought. He glanced discreetly to his security guards, but relaxed when he recognised his classmate, Shinji Mimura (Boys #19). _They all come. Like beasts around a watering hole, they've sniffed out something beneficial to them and come in herds._

"Toshinori!" Shinji called, waving. "Been hearing all about The List, which tells us when we're going to die. Well, you'd have to be living under a rock to miss it, it's all round school. Is it right you've got the only copy?"

Oda smiled. "You're well-informed. Join the queue and you'll have the information you require soon enough..."

Shinji manoeuvred his way closer. "Couldn't help noticing that it doesn't seem fair, you having a monopoly on this List. Not everyone can pay your asking price, you know. Don't we all deserve to have a look at this thing for ourselves? If it's legit... hell, we all need to know ASAP!"

Oda shrugged, still smiling pleasantly. "Not my problem. You can't expect me to subsidise those that can't pay – I don't do charity. And besides, what an insult to my many satisfied customers! Now, excuse me... Mizuho, yes, step right this way... have you got the fee? Excellent."

Shinji pushed a piece of paper into Oda's hand, turned, and strode off before the security guards reached him.

Oda opened the paper and read its contents. His face became pale. The corners of his mouth turned and his hands began to quiver. He screwed it up and jammed it into his trouser pocket. Mizuho looked at him, confused.

Shinji glanced over his shoulder.

"I don't have the only copy," said Oda, his voice quavering. "Fine, you vindictive _bastard_, I admit it... it's me, Yamamoto, Iijama and Motobuchi that've got them. We went to a psychic yesterday... she got the first five right, so... there's a pretty good chance for the rest, right?"

Mimura frowned. He'd been with Iijama earlier that day. He hadn't mentioned anything about the list. Then again, that was just typical Iijama.

Oda mistook the stern expression for disbelief. His stomach turned with fear. How the hell had this _rutting animal _got his hands on such a supremely damaging information about his father's company? And using it to coerce Oda into relinquishing control over the document, let just _anyone _see it, like some happy socialist wonderland where everyone is equal? It _was not fair._ But that information _couldn't _become public domain. That was an impossibility, and Oda knew which side his bread was buttered.

Oda forced his face into a conciliatory smile. "I would like to go to a photocopier and make copies of the List so that everyone can have one. I... think... that might be... fairer?"

Shinji nodded slowly, and mimed "continue!" with his hands. Oda ground his teeth.

"And I will be issuing... refunds, to everyone who paid for this information. This information that they should have had for free. In the spirit of friendship."

It was like a political campaign, the like of which had not been witnessed in the Greater East Asia Republic since before the dictatorship. Shinji Mimura, with a triumphant grin, tossed Oda some small change for the photocopying, then began to distribute the lists like electoral leaflets. Once everyone had one, he had a scan down the list himself. Shuya and Sugimura came to join him.

"There is no way this is legit, right?" said Shuya. "Oda… probably just trying to push our buttons, get us scared, so him and his 'superior intellect' set can have a laugh, right? How can he know who's next?"

"Said he'd been to a psychic," said Hiroki Sugimura (Male Student #11). "I don't know if I buy that stuff... but you know, something pretty odd is going on. We shouldn't write off anything just because it seems a bit far-out."

"Could be," said Shinji, his eyes flicking down the list. "Damn. Looks like I'd better stop being the Third Man and start saying the Twenty-Fifth…"

"We should see the psychic ourselves," said Shuya. "Set a test, or something. See if they've got real powers."

"Or... just wait," said Sugimura, uncomfortably. After Megumi Eto, the next name on the list was Hiroshi Kuronaga. They found themselves glancing around surreptitiously to see if the overweight gangster was present. He wasn't. _Maybe... already?_

Sugimura scanned down the list looking for his friends. Past Oda, past Shinji, past Yukie Utsumi and her group, Kayoko – _oh God, Kayoko…_ then his own name, which upset him less than he thought it would. Then past Soma, Kiriyama, Kawada… he was just skimming over them, which troubled him. Why had he lingered over Kayoko's name and then skipped past Mitsuko's as if she didn't even matter? Was one human life worth more than another?

"Looks like you're the last one standing, Shu," said Shinji, breaking Hiroki's train of thought. "Congratulations... I guess."

"No shit!"

Shuya grabbed the page from Sugimura's hands. There it was, exactly as the psychic had written it.

_Kotohiki Kayoko_

_Sugimura Hiroki _

_Soma Mitsuko_

_Kiriyama Kazuo_

_Kawada Shogo_

_Nakagawa Noriko_

_Nanahara Shuya_

And then no more names.

"Me?" Shuya stared at the text, as if willing the words to rearrange themselves.

Sugimura tapped his nose, looking troubled.

"I don't get it," he said. "If this was some bullshit prank of Oda's, why would he put Shu last? He's not exactly your biggest fan, you know…"

Shinji shrugged. "Doesn't make a lot of sense to me either."

"Mim! Hey!"

The three boys turned. It was Keita Iijama, grinning too much and waving a crumpled sheet of paper.

"Where have you guys been? Been looking for you everywhere!" he said. "Got something to show you. I got my hands on this list, that tells you the order we die, so I came to find you right away, show you first… you won't _believe_ this shit..."

"No," said Shinji, quietly, "I don't believe this shit."


	6. Chapter 6

The school bus pulled up at the stop, and Izumi Kanai stared at it dumbly. Her eyes were dark-ringed and her face was pale. She'd barely slept all week, firmly believing that something was hunting down her classmates.

She was being extra-careful. Remembering the horrible fate of Fumiyo Fujiyoshi, she wouldn't shower, instead drawing water into a bowl and washing with a sponge in her room. Seeing her father eating steak, the sharp knife rending bloody flesh, had sent her into hysterics. When she did sleep, nightmares gripped her, and more than once she'd run downstairs in the dead of night, her heart thudding, to check the gas and electric were switched off. She had become a nervous wreck.

It was her bus, no doubt. The unusual thing about it was the presence of the Kiriyama gang. It was definitely them. Ryuhei and Hiroshi smoking in the back, Mitsuru taking a call on his mobile, and Kazuo amidmost, gazing out of the window. They _never _got the bus this early – what would they be normally doing at this time? Stealing milk money? They got to school late, if at all. Had they become studious academics overnight? She didn't understand it.

An acrid smell returned Izumi's attention to the present. An oily puddle underneath the bus was spreading across the tarmac, creeping towards her, and an unhealthy whining sound came from the engine, as if some mechanical part within was getting hot and angry. The gang members were apparently oblivious, although passers by were glancing at the bus nervously, keeping their distance from the rattling engine.

Izumi understood. Pressing a shaking hand to her mouth, she turned, and began to walk quickly in the opposite direction. It was a long walk across town to the school, through neighbourhoods she'd heard bad things about, but she was sure that the bus... _her bus... _was the means. The Kiriyama gang would die today, she knew, but not her... _they wouldn't get her. _

Walking so fast with her head down, she didn't see the rangy young man step out of the shadows, nor did she see the gun in his hand. Only when he caught her by the shoulders and pressed it to her head was she aware of his presence.

"Hello, sweetheart," he crooned, his voice growly, friendly. "Just want your purse, that's all. Just your dinner money. Don't make a fuss and I'll let you go..."

-

"Need anything, just let me know, OK, boss?"

Mitsuru was being unusually attentive. He kept turning round to check on Kazuo Kiriyama (Male Student #6), offering him a swig of coke, dust off his jacket, move his school bag onto another seat so it wouldn't be in the way. In truth, Kazuo rightly perceived, Mitsuru Numai was nervous. He wasn't clever, so anything unexplained would scare him, just like ancient man's terror at the first sight of fire.

To Kazuo, the situation was… interesting. He had a copy of the List, which Mitsuru had acquired for him, and he intended to study it in more detail at school, look for a pattern. Form and function. Some meaning in the cold black and white of the names of the soon-to-be-dead.

The bus rounded a corner. All downhill from here, the last stretch of road before the school. A light wind rustled through the dry leaves, petals littered the road, and through the bus's open window filtered the thin sound of shouts from the schoolyard.

Kazuo Kiriyama perceived it all. Nothing escaped his notice. The deep rhythmic thrumming of the bus's engine, the wind, the birdsong in the trees – the deep, grinding crunch somewhere beneath him, as the brake mechanism failed… the driver's swearing, the voice which became absurdly high as he realised that he could not stop, the screams of panic as the bus swerved, trying to limit the damage…

_Interesting._

And then the crash.

-

Shogo Kawada (Male Student #5) sat on the grass and chain-smoked, as he often did when he had something on his mind. He hadn't been in class much that week, but it didn't matter, as he'd heard today that class was going to be cancelled from now on. Compassionate leave, they said, and temporary. In truth, Shogo considered, they probably didn't want a body turning up on school property. That sort of thing would bring in all kinds of unwelcome questions. Anyway, the free time would give him the opportunity to do a bit of his own research.

"What I'm saying is that we can fight it! Jeez, haven't you been _listening? _Class is cancelled, but all of us are on the list – pretending it's going to go away isn't going to help anything! We have to work together!"

That was Shuya… Nanahara? Yes, that was his name. A musical career would suit him, thought Kawada. He was capable of a hell of a lot of volume.

"Always running your mouth off…" Kazushi Niida (Male Student #17) wore an unpleasant sneer as he rounded on Shuya. "How the hell'd you figure that grouping together will get us anywhere but dead?"

"He has a point. Look at Fumiyo and Mayumi," agreed Satomi Noda (Female Student #17).

Kazushi _wanted _to look at Fumiyo and Mayumi, particularly Fumiyo, as he'd heard she died in the shower. Although Mayumi was definitely cuter, despite the unfortunate broken neck…

"Yeah, it's all right for you, isn't it?" said Satomi. "Shuya Nanahara, last man standing. It'll probably be old age that gets you. The rest of us've got to worry about our own lives."

"Satomi!" admonished Yukie Utsumi (Female Student #2). "This is everyone's problem, wherever we are on the list. What is this, every man for himself all of a sudden?"

"Shuya's right!" Noriko spoke up. "We have to work together!"

But Kazushi Niida wasn't listening.

"Funny," he said slowly, his lizard-lips curling back from unattractive long teeth. "Funny that the one who wants us to group together is the last one on the list. Part of the grand plan, Shu? Come on, who d'ya think started this shit? Who was with Yoshi when he went kersplat under the car? Would've been easy enough to give him a little shove from behind…"

Shuya's face went scarlet, and before he knew it, he was gripping a fistful of Niida's shirt, ramming the footballer against a wall, ready to beat him to within and inch of his life.

"What _the fuck_ did you say?!" Shuya yelled, beating Niida against the wall rhythmically – until Niida kneed him in the stomach, causing him to double over, and followed it up with a punch in the mouth. Shuya reeled, but managed to trip Niida, sending the two of them sprawling on the tarmac.

"Please stop fighting!" cried Noriko and Yukie together.

"Nanahara!" came another voice, a deeper voice, that could have passed for a teacher. Noriko stared. They all did. It was Kawada, the transfer, scarred and muscular and particularly scary-looking. Neither Shuya or Niida could have him in a fight. They stopped for a moment.

"Kawada?" Shuya pressed a hand to his bleeding lip. Niida edged back. Here was a kid who surely didn't care about anything, who was always skipping class, often seen just sitting and smoking up on the grass bank that overlooked the gym, playing with a little bird-call toy and smiling to himself. Possibly dangerously crazy, possibly a little eccentric, or perhaps, as Shuya was soon to find, a man with a deep understanding of his own place in the world, a man with a mission.

"I need a word with you," said Kawada. "Shuya…"

Then, he was interrupted by a bus crashing into the school.

The bus, out of control, ploughed into the gym, demolishing a brick wall as it flipped over. The leaking petrol ignited, and the rosy orange explosion shattered all the windows on their side of the school, throwing shards of glass out into the yard. Noriko cried out and leapt behind Shuya. Niida flung up a hand to shield his face. Debris flew. There was a horrible ear-splitting sound of twisted metal.

Hiroshi Kuronaga (Male Student #9) was the first one to become aware of the danger – not that it helped him. When the final desperate attempt at a handbrake stop failed, and the driver's broken body was thrown from his seat, Kuronaga plunged sideways, smashing his head on the window. Screaming, Ryuhei Sasagawa (Male Student #10) clambered over him to escape, but ran straight into the ensuing fireball.

Mitsuru Numai (Male Student #16) felt the iron arms of the collapsing bus embrace him, destroy him. His last thought was of Kazuo Kiriyama, and as the firemen hewed at the mangled metal to free him, he died believing that it was Kiriyama's arms that enfolded around him, and the pain was as glorious as Kiriyama's smile. At last, Kazuo-kun – oh, how he'd longed to call him that – was smiling for him. He didn't really mind dying.

And Kazuo Kiriyama, thrown free against all the odds, thought to himself as they strapped him to the stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance. He thought…

_This is interesting. _

Just before he lost consciousness, he realised he was seeing the colours again.

-

Yoshimi Yahagi (Female Student #21) and Hirono Shimizu (Female Student #10) peered out from behind the equipment shed to survey the damage. Fate had cut down the Kiriyama family in one stroke, leaving only flaming wreckage to witness they had been there, but the Souma gang was spared. Even though Mitsuko had been standing right in the path of the out-of-control bus. If any further demonstration of the power of the list was needed…

"Pretty…" she sighed, watching the flames consume the gym. Destruction was always beautiful. It made her feel… powerful. Or reminded her of something she'd lost. Had her man, her strong sexy boxer, felt like this as his sports car careered over the cliff? _I'm only fifteen. _Whump. Fireball.

"Mitsuko?"

She turned, assuming a slightly wicked smile. Her face was red with the glow of the fire. "Guess we're excused from gym this week," she said. "Cops'll be here soon. Who's up for milkshake?"

"Away from the scene of the crime," agreed Hirono. "Let's be making tracks."

"Um… Mitsu?" asked Yoshimi, trotting along at the taller girl's side. "Isn't that motor oil on your skirt?"

Mitsuko winked. "New favourite lubricant, Yoshi dear."

"Oh…" said Yoshimi, her cheeks colouring. Hirono chuckled, then glanced back over her shoulder at the smouldering wreckage, and wondered.

-

9 eliminated, 33 to go…


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry about the delay – exams and Christmas happened. Have another chapter.

-

They were talking about numbers. Percentages, so-and-so over something, so much, so little. It was so very depersonalising, it was a while before he realised they were talking about him.

"Name? Yes, he had a student ID in his wallet. Kiriyama… Kazuo. Fifteen years of age. Date of birth… next of kin…"

Then more numbers. Many numbers. Interesting, that the state of his body could be conveyed entirely in figures, and people would understand it. It was a cold language, where meaning was unambiguous. _Form and function. _No… not any more…

Where was he?

"Thrown clear," said a man's voice, muffled by his surgical mask. "Apparently. But none of the windows broke… and barely a scratch on him, apart from the head injury?"

"I don't understand it." More numbers, then the click of cold metal closing around his wrist. They were handcuffing him to the bed?

"I must protest – as you see, he's hardly in any condition to go wandering off anywhere… "

"He had the list. Accurately predicted the deaths of the students on the bus, and he's the sole survivor. He's a suspect. _The _suspect, I should say…"

But Kazuo Kiriyama wasn't listening.

He could see colours. Blue flashing lights, then antiseptic green, white walls, red plastic chairs. A train of white lights along the ceiling. _Colours! _

Then the black came back and all the colours went away. The bad thing? Again? No… _Don't, _he thought. This was different, wasn't it? Before, he'd lost the colours, but now they were back, and something else… a tugging, not quite physical but not a mind-thing either. It had been a long time. But he felt the mask push against his face, and the swirl of colours blurred and dimmed. Darkness. He felt sad.

He… _felt_?

-

Keita Iijama stopped again, looking around, confused. He was sure he hadn't taken any wrong turnings, and anyway, they'd investigated all the nearby streets. He had a good sense of direction, and when he'd been somewhere once, he could usually find it again. Especially under duress.

"Here," he said, and pointed. "This was definitely the building."

"Can't be. You sure it wasn't one of those ones round the block?" said Shinji Mimura. "They all looked like this one."

"No, I'm sure," said Iijama. He stamped his foot. "Her office was here, OK?! What more do you want me to do?"

Mimura wondered whether or not to believe Iijama. Then again, he was doing his slightly desperate, please-love-me voice, which he tended to only employ when he was sincere. And he'd agreed to take them, and trudged round the neighbourhood with them for two hours looking for the psychic's house. And found it.

"Should we ring the bell?" said Shuya.

"Not much point," said Shinji. "Look at it."

They looked.

"Well, there's nothing to see here," said Hiroki, digging in his pocket for his mobile – he planned to go straight to Takako's after this to discuss it with her. "We're going to miss the last train home, come on."

Shuya, Hiroki, Shinji and Keita turned away from the derelict building, the door slightly open, wind flapping through the windows. The name, the doorbell, the moon and stars stickers were gone. No-one had lived there in months.

-

"Yeah, we know about you not meaning to do it," said the interrogator.

"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions," added his colleague. "Walk us through it one more time..."

"OK, then. I wasn't meaning to kill anyone, you know? Gun wasn't even cocked. Yeah, fuck you, I'm admitting I had a gun... but that's what, three years max? Two if I behave myself? Right, so I'm broke, my poor starving kids are at home... and I see this girl. High schooler. Looked like the rich type"

"Izumi Kanai, ninth grade," the detective monotoned. "She has now been positively identified by her parents."

"Walked right into me, almost. I was just going to try and scare her a bit, you know, just get her to hand over a bit of cash, run off, like that, you know? Give her something to talk about with her rich mates. So I pulled out the gun." He lit a cigarette, helping himself from the interrogator's supply. "And she starts _screaming _the place down, proper screaming, I'm talking fuckin' hysterics here, not your normal reaction."

"What exactly _is _a normal reaction for a fifteen-year-old girl being mugged at gunpoint?" wondered the interrogator.

"Now I just want to make her shut up. Just stop the screaming, that's all. So I grab hold of her and she's going mental, yelling about some curse, proper weird bullshit. So I pull the trigger. I swear on my mother's life, the gun wasn't cocked. The safety was on. I'm no kid killer. Just wanted to scare her a bit, you know... _click_, shit-your-pants, this-guy-means-business, better hand over the money. And..."

"Yeah, we know what happened then," said the investigator, taking the cigarette from between the man's lips and stubbing it out on the back of his hand. Ignoring the scream of pain, he turned, shuffled his papers into order, and left the room.

-

"Let me go first," said Sakura Ogawa (Female Student #4). "I don't want to see you..."

"Sakura..." mumbled Kazuhiko Yamamoto (Male Student #21), burying his face in her neck. "Wait for me, okay? I'll be right after you."

She nodded, her eyelashes spiky with tears. From Kazuhiko, she took the bottle of tequila, took a swig, screwing up her face at the taste. Then she climbed up onto the chair and pulled the noose tight over her neck.

"Ready?" said Kazuhiko.

Sakura froze with terror. "A moment," she said, closing her eyes, thinking of him coming right after her. "Yes," she said. "I'm ready. Here goes..." She closed her eyes. "One... two..."

Kazuhiko, squeezing his eyes shut, kicked the chair from under her. The worst thing about it was the little gasp of shock she made as the rope constricted her neck. She dangled, her legs kicking, flailing, then twitching. Was there pain? It didn't look peaceful. Not like she said.

Sakura's limbs fell still, and the only motion was the slight spin of the twisted cord. She didn't look beautiful any more when her face turned to gaze blankly at him.

Something inside Kazuhiko snapped. "No!" he yelled, knocking the bottle of tequila over as he jumped to his feet. It smashed, shards of glass mingling with the pool of sticky alcohol, but he didn't notice.

"Sakura! Not like this! Not you!"

He rushed over to grab Sakura's dangling legs, take the weight from her neck. Desperately he pulled himself up onto the chair, supporting her with one arm, clawing at the rope with the other. Those tight knots, tied carefully to take Sakura, then Kazuhiko, so they could be together again, somewhere safe...

The rope abruptly gave. Kazuhiko toppled backwards, Sakura's body on top of him, as they crashed to the floor with the chair. There was a _slicing _sound. Something warm and sticky around his ear. Then nothing.

When they were found, Sakura on top of Kazuhiko, their limbs tangled, the heady smell of alcohol and blood mingled in the dark, it was as if they were in the middle of something _special_, and Kazuhiko's brother, horribly embarrassed, almost apologised and walked out again, before he realised they weren't moving.

The report said that Sakura died of self-inflicted strangulation, whereas Kazuhiko somehow ended up with a fragment of tequila bottle in his neck, severing his carotid artery, and being the cause of a very alcoholic bloodstain all over the floor.

-

Mizuho Inada (Female Student #1) dabbed her thumb in the gore, then raised it above her head, saluting each of the Elder Gods with a scarlet benediction, as instructed. Blood of a sacrifice, moonlight, a receptive heart. With her catalogue charm necklace dangling from a branch above them, she was ready to commune with her masters. She placed the body of the dead crow carefully on her altar, before which her acolyte, Kaori Minami (Female Student #20) was standing nervously.

"Kneel," she said.

It was cold in the copse, and dark, and Kaori couldn't shake off the feeling that kids would come past on their bikes and throw sticks (as had happened last time she had agreed to roleplay with Mizuho). This time, though, it was different. Shivering, Kaori dropped to her knees on the leaf-litter, and closed her eyes.

"I am ready… to receive," she recited hesitantly.

"Are you ready to become one from many? To be who you were born to be, Lorela Lausasse Kaori, to devote yourself entirely to the service of Ahura Mazda? To give of your body and soul? To receive the many gifts of the Lord of Light?"

"Yeah," muttered Kaori.

"Speak through me, masters!" Mizuho's voice rang out through the clearing. "I, who know your names! I, your servant Prexia Dikianne Mizuho, have brought the warrior-in-waiting Lorela Lausasse Kaori to this holy place, that you may elevate her to full warrior status!"

She stood in silence for a long time, her arms raised, her face in rapture as she listened to the voice of her god. Minutes passed. Kaori began to fidget with her Junya locket.

"Um… Mizu?"

Mizuho turned, blinking as she returned to the present. "Your aura is uncertain. The Elder Gods doubt your commitment, sister, but in a time like this, when we are under siege by the Demons of the Underdark, they will accept you. You are now the warrior Lorela, daughter of destiny! Take of their light, let it transform you! Transfix you!"

Kaori raised her arms as Mizuho daubed her cheeks with the cold blood and tried to feel the light. She didn't feel very much, but tried to play along. The important thing was the _name._

"The ritual ends. Go in peace, my children," Mizuho muttered. "Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we banish the demons."

"Mizu?" said Kaori. She felt fairly repulsed at the thought of the fresh blood on her face – lucky for them that Kaori's cat had killed the bird, she was not sure what Mizuho would have done if she had not been able to find an appropriate sacrifice. But now the ritual was over, and Mizuho was going to let her stay.

"You've got to call me _Prexia _from now on, Lorela," said Mizuho. "Names are power. If the demons know our real names, they can kill us. Just like they killed the others. Only Kaori Minami is on the list, but not the enlightened Lorela."

Kaori looked down. "If only we hadn't been too late to save Megumi."

Even now, she could barely believe that demons had killed her best friend. She reached for her locket, but Mizuho grasped her hand. "Be strong, warrior! Think of all the others we'll save! Megumi is in the Realm of Light, and when we defeat the demons, the war will be over, and you, Lorela, can choose your husband from among the enlightened…"

"Junya…" sighed Kaori. The crow's blood dripped in thin rivulets from her chin as she tilted her head back, carried away by pleasant thoughts. "My husband."

Putting an arm round the waist of the newly-initiated warrior Lorela, Mizuho led the way back to her apartment (or, the headquarters of the newly-formed Ahura Mazda Anti-Demon Resistance).

-

11 eliminated, 31 to go…


	8. Chapter 8

Again, sorry for the delay. I had a big translation assignment at work, plus uni work, and my hand hurt from too much typing, so I decided to give fic a break. And then, just as I was about to get going again, my flash drive got virussed and I lost the whole thing. xx

Anyway, thank you for the reviews, and without further ado:

-

_Hurtling down through the air. Cold mist tore past him in ragged shreds. Branches scraped him and leaves clung to him as he plunged through the canopy. Then, with a juddering impact, his body hit the ground. Bounced. Then lay still. _

Tatsumichi Ooki (Male Student #3) jolted awake, the wind knocked from him. For a moment, his entire body was tense. _Dead. _But his heart was jumping painfully in his chest and he was sweating...

...and he was in his room.

Just a dream. Another falling dream. He had them occasionally at times of anxiety, such as exam season, the week or so before the move, and of course, they'd been gathering pace recently. He'd seen the list, and knew he was next after Sakura Ogawa and Kazuhiko Yamamoto. This was not comforting.

A loud banging at the door made him jump. _Relax, _he told himself, groping blearily for his watch. It was his mother, no doubt, with her usual alarm-clock morning special. He squinted. _Six thirty_? But... school was cancelled.

Her head appeared in the door, freshly made up as if ready to go out. "Get up," she said briskly. "We're moving back to Osaka."

More awake now, Tatsumichi kicked off the duvet and fumbled for his socks. "Whuh? How come? What about dad's job?"

The enormity of the situation hadn't really sunk in yet. Or perhaps it wasn't such a big deal as it might have been to the other kids in his class. Ooki hadn't been in Shiroiwa long enough to put down roots, so leaving again wouldn't be traumatic. The only thing that confused him was, why would his father want to go back to Osaka? Years he'd waited for this promotion. He'd thought the Kagawa move was to be permanent.

Another thought entered his mind. "We're going today? What about my stuff?"

His mother tossed a backpack at him through the open door. "It'll keep. Just bring with you an overnight bag – enough clothes to last you a couple of days. Hurry up, dad's already loading the car. Don't forget your toothbrush."

Tatsumichi pulled on his jeans, and threw deodorant, underpants, socks and a couple of t-shirts into the backpack. An overnight bag? Well, perhaps they were staying in a hotel or something. He didn't know. He added shower gel, a picture of his girlfriend in Osaka, and last of all, his treasured autographed baseball bat. Even if he had to leave most of his stuff, _that _wasn't staying around to get nicked.

His father was in the kitchen when he came downstairs. Looking up, Ooki senior hastily flipped his newspaper face-down on the table.

"Coffee?" he said.

There was something strange in his voice – never a morning person, it was unusual to see him so brisk and efficient before 7am. Usually, he was falling out of bed at twenty to nine, throwing on a suit, downing his coffee and out the door.

"Nah," said Tatsumichi. "Dad, what's going on?"

His mother came down behind him, hefting an extra spare tyre for the car, plus puncture repair kit and what looked like a thermal blanket. "Your father is in a bit of trouble, dear. Business thing. Nothing to worry about, but we have to stay in Osaka until it all blows over."

Ooki scratched his head, gulping down the omelette that had appeared on his plate. "It's got nothing to do with this Curse thing, at school?"

"Oh, no," his mother and father answered together, too quickly. "Superstitious nonsense. But it wouldn't hurt to be out of the way of that, too," added his father. "We've already called the school. They've taken you off the register, and I'm sure re-enrolling at your old school won't be difficult." He smiled. "Yes, soon everything'll be back to normal."

Tatsumichi was relieved. Off the register! Of course. That meant, in practice, off the List. It only got you if you were unlucky enough to be a member of Class B, and he no longer was. He was all about moving back to Osaka if that's what it took. He didn't question the differences between his parents' explanations: his mother thought it would be temporary, his father suggesting that the move would be permanent. Tatsumichi never was much of a thinker. As the car rolled down the drive and skidded across the street in haste, a cold breeze blew through an open window in their abandoned kitchen, fluttering through the pages of the newspaper that Tatsumichi hadn't seen.

"Tatsumichi!" his mother reprimanded him from the front seat. "Buckle your seat belt."

Headphones in, Tatsumichi grunted. Osaka or Shiroiwa, some things stayed the same – his mother would never, ever stop nagging him.

-

Shuya Nanahara put down the newspaper and stared into his tea.

"Both of them?" he said.

"Looks like it. I'm sorry." Hiroki Sugimura, unsure of how to comfort him – Shuya took the deaths of his classmates particularly hard – gave his arm a quick brotherly squeeze. "At least they went together. They wanted it, and they did it together. That's brave, right?"

_No, _he answered his own question in his mind. _A brave person would have stayed around to fight for her, not given up. _He immediately felt ashamed, and rebuked himself for not considering all the circumstances leading up to their deaths – Kazuhiko might have tried everything to protect her and failed. Yet, here he was, passing judgement on other people's lives...

"It's possible that the article isn't the usual cocktail of censored bullshit and plain lies that they usually print," said Shinji Mimura, dropping sugar cubes into his teacup and stirring meditatively. "Maybe it was really suicide."

"Maybe _it _can kill and make it look like suicide," suggested Yutaka Seto (Male Student #12) who was also with them. "Like really good murderers."

Sugimura gave him a look.

"I mean, you know. Skilful. Or whatever."

"Maybe," Shuya shrugged glumly. "In any case, he wasn't just going to sit around and watch his girlfriend get picked off first."

Yutaka nodded, taking a slurp of his milkshake. "He did right. I think I'd have done the same, if I was Kazuhiko," he said. Fumiyo crossed his mind, distant and painful. He hadn't had time to save her, since she died so early, before anyone knew what was going on. "Kiriyama's guys bit it within minutes of each other, but there was a week between Mayumi and Yoshio," he continued. "He couldn't have known when it'd come for Sakura. He had to do something. I guess I admire him," he finished.

"I don't know. I just _can't_," said Shuya, shaking his head. "They could've both lived! If everyone decided there's no hope and made a group suicide pact, the whole class dies, we're doing its work for it."

"So, what do you do, if not that?" said Shinji, glancing over the List again, which was looking worse for wear – repeatedly folded, torn and tea-stained. "Our detective work has kind of fallen flat with the disappearing psychic."

Shuya looked resolute. "We go and find whoever's next, and try and keep them out of danger. This thing doesn't operate to a schedule, like Yutaka said. It waits for opportunities. We just go and find the person and keep them away from the opportunities."

"Like a bodyguard?" said Sugimura. The idea had a certain appeal.

"Ooki," said Shinji. "He's the new kid, isn't he? He's next. Bet he wishes he'd never moved here."

Shuya stood up. "Well, we can sit here wasting time, or track him down in the phone book and find out where he lives."

Yutaka finished his milkshake and jumped to his feet. "Well, time's a-wastin'," he said. "Just don't leave all the bodyguarding to me. I don't want _all _the glory."

-

_Little Miss Popularity! Has she ever had so many friends? _

_Ninth Grade / Class B. So many friends! Yuko blossoms before my eyes! We are all so proud of her! _

_Birthday girl! Yuko turns fourteen. Will she ever be able to eat all that cake by herself? _

_Sports day / Eighth Grade. Yuko and Noriko run the three-legged race. Bronze medals for them both! _

_Plink. _She hadn't even realised she was crying until the small drop of salty water fell on the photograph and began to react with the print. Careless. Wiping her eyes, she leafed back a few more pages, over Christmases and birthdays, summers, winters, school holidays and family outings.

_Yuko begins Junior High! How time flies! _

It was no good. Yuko Sakaki (Female Student #9) pushed the album away and curled up, hugging her knees as she sobbed. It had been her mother's idea, get out the old albums, remember happier times. Dr. Chiodo had said. She'd heard him. _You have to distract her. Don't let her dwell on it._ That was what her parents were trying to do. They were walking eggshells around her, bringing cups of tea she hadn't asked for, turning off the news in case there was some war story that might upset her. They'd filled the house with flowers and promised her a holiday, when dad's bonus came through, to take her mind off it. But she'd forgotten that there were school pictures in there, pictures of her classmates, pictures of some who were now dead.

Yuko looked down_. Didn't have to look at the pictures. Don't think about it and then you won't get upset again._ But there, as if to spite her, a picture of Fumiyo Fujiyoshi had escaped its binding and was poking out of the side of the album.

She remembered it. Six months ago, it was. Shopping, milkshakes, fun... then the sky went dark and the heavens opened in what was to be the worst storm that year. They'd run all the way to the train station, their clothes soaked, but not before snapping this picture of Fumiyo, laughing despite the lightning, the rain plastering her wet hair to her face.

With a scream of anger, Yuko grabbed the album and hurled it at the wall. Photographs scattered like confetti over the floor as Yuko fell back in the corner, shaking, her breathing slowly returning to normal.

"Yuko?"

Her mother's voice drifted up from the laundry room, quiet and concerned. She heard feet on the stairs. _Why couldn't they just let her be?_

The pictures were all mixed up now. Fumiyo in the rain was oddly juxtaposed next to an old picture from playschool – of course, she'd forgotten she and Megumi went to the same day nursery – and there she was, unmistakeable (same face, even as a toddler) playing with a shiny blue toy steam train.

"Yuko, are you all right in there?" A whispered conference behind the door. Consulting her father. Was it better to go in, or leave her to her thoughts?

Yuko hastily grabbed handfuls of the photos, trying to hide the mess. She didn't want to worry her mother. Didn't want to keep having to go back to Dr. Chiodo.

In her hand was another picture of a classmate, this time Mayumi Tendo, from first grade. She still had her thick plait back then, clearly recognisable. But why take an action shot of the girls running up the stairs, so jerky and out of focus that it looked like their feet were blurred together, slipping, _falling_?

There was a key in the lock. Her mother came in, to find Yuko sitting dumbly on the floor, surrounded by scattered photographs.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said. "Is everything all right? I heard..."

Yuko blinked. Then she scrabbled through the pictures to find the relevant ones, and thrust them at her mother. "Look!" she insisted.

"What am I looking at, darling?"

She tried to explain, her hands shaking in agitation. "Megumi with the train. Fumiyo and the storm. And that's Mayumi – on _stairs_. Pastor Min..." Her mother shushed her, but she carried on. "Pastor Min said, about how sometimes God sends messages... like warnings... _look_! The pictures are like clues!"

"Mmm. Could be," said her mother, trying to recall when the next appointment was. "Don't worry, Yuko. I'll tidy this up. You just... have a rest, and don't worry about a thing, okay? You're safe here. I think... I'd better take these out of your way."

"No!" Yuko's mind was working overtime. "Let me keep the albums," she pleaded. "And if there are any more, can I have them?"

She wanted to say no. Anything that set off the delusions – she didn't like the word, but that's what Dr. Chiodo said – was best kept out of sight. But she thought that perhaps the lesser evil was letting Yuko have her way. It was better than her getting _more _worked up.

"All right," she said, and kissed her daughter's forehead.

As she said her prayer that night, Yuko asked for something different. People to be nicer and all wars to end hadn't yet worked. This time, it was something more specific.

_I understand Your message, _she whispered into the dark. _I'll not fail, I promise. I'll warn them so they can avoid the danger you told me about. Thank you for doing this, to help me keep my friends safe._

_Please, make me brave enough to try..._

-

11 eliminated, 31 to go...


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 up. Starring Kawada, Mitsuko, Shuya and the boys, Mizuho and Kaori.

-

This chapter carries a warning for sex, but it's Mitsuko, so probably nothing too unexpected. Thanks to an astute reviewer pointing it out, I've tweaked the List so that Hatagami and Takiguchi are now in the right order. I'm sure they're very grateful.

-

The four boys were unusually silent for most of the journey. Since Mimura had flagged down the fruit truck on the outskirts of Shiroiwa, and they'd piled in amongst the boxes of apples, each of them seemed to have slipped into his own private thoughts, each contemplating the List, his own place on it, his friends, and whether they would be in time to save Ooki.

They'd run into difficulty after difficulty. Such recent arrivals in the town didn't have a listing in the phone book, so they were obliged to try the school. The office was recalcitrant, unwilling to hand over confidential information to just anyone, and only after a good hour of arguing did they agree to help. Then, finally, they'd arrived at Ooki's house to find it empty, the family gone. The neighbours had supplied the address where they used to live, and presumably had returned. It was getting late in the day and the four of them were tired. The thought of leaving Ooki to his fate and concentrating their efforts on Motobuchi instead crossed a few minds. Still, in the end, they knew what they had to do.

Shinji tapped on the wire mesh separating them from the driver. "Hey, my man," he said, "the apples aren't getting any fresher. Can't you step on it a bit?"

The driver responded with a puff of cigarette smoke in Shinji's direction. "Don't tell me how to do my job, kid. Been doing this twenty years and I never delivered a mouldy apple, not even once – anyway, this road's enough of a death trap without me speeding. Pipe down back there or I'll drop you off in the middle of nowhere."

"Fine." Shinji sagged back against a stack of boxes, extracting an apple with a swift hand movement undetectable from the cab, and took a bite, before tossing it to Yutaka. Dispirited, he couldn't be bothered finishing it.

Yutaka caught the apple. "Thanks," he said, sensing his friend's low mood. Unsure of how to cheer him up, he settled for giving him a friendly kick across the floor of the van. "Hey, we'll get there. We'll find him."

"Yeah," said Shinji, returning the kick with a grateful twinge of the lips. It was what he left unsaid that carried the most meaning. _What do we do then?_

-

Prexia Dikianne Mizuho nudged Lorela Lausasse Kaori, and whispered, "Isn't that Noriko?"

It was. What was unusual was her presence in the minimarket at that time of the evening. The space warriors had gone out to get some more pop and biscuits in the middle of a marathon anime session – since Kaori had more or less moved in with Mizuho, the shopping needed doing – and Mizuho's parents flitted in and out only occasionally, more absorbed with their own spiritual quests than their daughter. Mizuho was trying to decide whether red or green ramen were more auspicious when she caught a glimpse of her classmate Noriko Nakagawa, also browsing the aisles.

It was quiet in town that night, as it was also the inaugural night of the Program, and most state-controlled channels were devoted to indepth coverage and analysis of the pre-release information before the game kicked off at midnight. Mizuho didn't watch it, and wasn't really bothered for the media hysteria of the opening night, but she'd heard the class chosen this time was local. So most good patriotic citizens of Shiroiwa were at home cheering on the little warriors.

"What do you think?" asked Kaori in a low voice. Since Mizuho had declared that the Elder Gods were unhappy with her degree of devotion to the path, she had been at pains to improve her standing with them. Only by winning the war, she knew, could Junya be her warrior-prince consort. Mizuho consulted the manual, and it was clear what needed to be done: recruit another acolyte.

Mizuho nodded solemnly, and returned to choosing ramen. Kaori turned, assuming a more normal expression, and turned to the baking ingredients section, where Noriko was caught between two kinds of cake icing. She sidled up.

"Hi," she said. "Are you making cookies again?"

Noriko turned, startled. "Oh, hi, Kaori."

There was something different about her... her skin had cleared up a bit, perhaps? And, Noriko noticed, she had a different pendant where she usually wore her Junya locket – a crystal, not dissimilar to Mizuho's.

"Why don't you come over?" said Kaori. There was a strange intensity to her voice and she gripped her shopping basket tightly as she spoke. "I'm staying at Mizuho's. We were going to watch a film and stuff. Please come."

Slightly disconcerted, Noriko said, "Um, sorry, Kaori, but I'm only out to buy icing for my mother. She won't know where I've gone. I'd better be going now, actually..."

She was losing Junya. As the acolyte-to-be turned, Kaori heard his voice in her mind getting fainter. _Could've been, K-gal. Could've been._

She reached out and grasped Noriko's wrist. Her hands were sweaty, which she hated, as she might inadvertently touch her face and clog the pores. Noriko must have been thinking the same, as she recoiled, shocked.

"Please come," said Kaori. "Just half an hour. They won't mind. Come on." Practically dragging Noriko to the checkouts, Kaori glanced over her shoulder. Mizuho had selected red ramen and looked pleased with herself, and Junya was congratulating her. Things were looking up.

-

_This road's a death-trap..._

_This road..._

Hiroki Sugimura looked up sharply. Rain was beating down on the tarmac and hammering the metal roof over them, the spray reducing visibility to a matter of metres. And they were entering the worst section of the highway, a narrow stretch banked high on the mountain before dropping down into the city, peppered with hairpin bends and sheer drops.

"Weather's taken a turn," muttered the driver, fiddling with the radio dials in search of a traffic forecast. "You boys are bad luck. Damn my generous nature for agreeing to take you."

"Maybe you're right..." Shinji said laconically. "There's a curse on us. Bad luck follows us around."

He could have been saying anything, as the driver just nodded to himself, puffing away in a manner which probably wasn't very good for the apples. Yutaka looked a bit sick.

"What's this?" said the driver. Through the haze of rain and spray, there were red brake lights ahead, as the traffic ground to a halt. Behind it, a section of the barrier at the edge of the road had been torn from its moorings, and skid marks in the mud could be seen, snaking off down into the woods.

He braked abruptly. The four boys stared. The driver sucked in air through his teeth.

"Looks like someone's gone over the edge. Nasty way to go, just shows what I was saying about this road... _hey!_"

The rain-laced gust of wind that had extinguished his cigarette came from the back, where Hiroki and Shinji had abruptly opened the doors. Shuya and Yutaka were already racing down the hill, their feet sliding in the mud.

"What do you think you're doing! We're in the middle of nowhere! You can't get out here..."

Hiroki stopped, turning back briefly to rebolt the truck door behind them. "Thanks for the lift," he called to the bemused delivery man, rain coursing down his face, "I think we've got where we wanted to go..."

-

In its descent down the valley side, the car had flipped several times, battering the sides and front until the make and model of the vehicle was almost unrecognisable. The windscreen had shattered, apparently from the impact of an autographed baseball bat flying at it from the back seat.

Shuya stared at the mangled wreckage. Vaguely, through the shattered windscreen with its blood-spray pattern, he thought he could make out the bulky shape of Tatsumichi, lying sprawled across the back of his mother's seat, crushed by the force of the impact. "No," he said, a simple statement of disbelief.

"We have to check," uttered Hiroki grimly, trying to force open the bent passenger door. "Have to be sure."

"Already checked," came another voice.

There was a hiss as a lighter was ignited in the rain, and the owner of the new voice lit a cigarette, shielding it with his hand. The brief flare of the lighter-flame illuminated his face in the gloom. "Better you don't look in there. It's not pretty."

Yutaka Seto found his voice.

"_Kawada_?"

In the rain, his clothes clinging to his muscles, Shogo looked even more menacing than usual. It had the effect of killing some of Shuya's usual friendliness.

"Why are you here?" he demanded without preamble. Kawada, however, didn't seem to mind.

"Same as you, by the look of it," he said. "Voice down. We're not exactly supposed to be here."

"Why?" said Yutaka. It would have seemed an absurd question, but since joining their class, Shogo had never seemed to care about any one of them, projecting the strong, silent tough-guy image. If a faceless malevolent force started killing his classmates one by one, there was no indication in his character up til now that he would do anything but sit on the grass and smoke and watch it happen.

"He was next. The List, right? I didn't think it'd get Sakura and Kazuhiko together, so didn't have time to prepare – and he left town pretty quick, wasn't easy to catch up with him in my rustbucket of a car. I got here just as the car went over the edge. How's that for good timing? It was quite a sight."

Sugimura glared at him. "Quite a sight. Must have been."

Shogo finished his cigarette, letting it fizzle out in the rain and tucking the butt into his pocket. "Last thing we need is to be leaving DNA evidence all over the place," he said, by way of explanation. "The state troops aren't buying this 'curse' theory and they think there's a serial killer in the class, or connected with it. Look what's happened to Kiriyama. Best not to go down that road." There was the sound of sirens in the distance. "Better move ourselves as well."

Shuya stared, stunned.

"Is that all you can say?" he said. "Someone just _died_, no, three people – the parents too – because we didn't get there in time, and... that's it? Show's over, move on, don't drop your DNA at the scene?"

Shogo had already turned to leave. "Look, we were too late, no amount of crying's going to change that. Nothing more we can do for him, and getting ourselves arrested isn't going to help anyone either."

"Why are you doing this, then?" Hiroki wanted to know. "Are you really trying to _save _people? You believe there is a curse, then?"

"Yes and no," said Shogo, shouldering his bag. "I'll explain on the way back. I'm parked up a way back on the road. She ain't fast but she'll do the job."

"You _would _have a car," said Yutaka admiringly.

-

-

"Like the taste, do ya?"

"Mmm." Hard to talk when you're so drunk things are starting to blur, and anyway, when some Yakuza's ramming his tongue down your throat. It has its advantages, she thought. Takes away the need for... _verbal _communication. She clenched around him, having learned that they liked that. By his hoarse shout as he came, she guessed he did like that.

He surfaced for air for a moment, licking his lips, well-pleased with his conquest. "You're something... thought no schoolkid'd be able to keep up with me, but you're just gagging for it, ain't you? In-fucking-satiable. Pass the cigs."

Mitsuko rolled off him to find the packet of smokes, mentally rolling her eyes that it was _her _job to wait on him, especially after their marathon session. Still, she'd be well-compensated for her work soon enough.

Drunk, cigarette in hand, warm and comfortable and having a generally pleasant evening, it was easy to talk, and anyway, she was only a stupid kid, she wasn't going to _remember _any of this shit. He told her about the first guy he rubbed out and even where they put the body, about a guy whose tongue they cut out for using it too much, about internal shiftings and struggles within the family, and about the many, many murders he'd been involved in. She listened only vaguely, trying to direct the conversation towards something useful... bank details, someone else who likes 'em young, someone rich and stupid who she could play. But he was just rambling. Another one, brain half fried with drugs and booze. It's a good thing she already had his PIN number...

Then he said something that hit her deep, something that almost made her sit up.

"...killing's no big deal... done it a lot myself, you have to, you know? It's like, we're all going to get whacked sooner or later, but you take control, get ahead of the game..." He took a draw on his cigarette, sending a puff of smoke spiralling in aimless patterns. "Be the master of your own destiny. 'S true, you know..."

_Of course. _Mitsuko remembered when she finally figured out how to deal with her stepfather. How old had she been? It seemed like half a lifetime ago. What she learned, after numerous beatings, was to make him _think _she wanted it. Come to him all sweet and willing and adoring, then he wouldn't make it hurt. You have to give, otherwise they'll only take. And by giving, you take control.

Knocking back another whisky, the yakuza-philosopher continued. "Cos if you don't, if you get sloppy, let it slip just for a minute... they'll come for you. They'll come and get you if you don't get them first. That's the only way you get... fear. That's the only way you get respect from them. And if you've got that... you're immortal."

"Mm?" Mitsuko mumbled sleepily, hoping he'd continue, but instead, he grunted, misinterpreting her. "Immortal, baby. That's me. I go on forever." With a drunken leer – _so _attractive, he flipped her over, clearly not satisfied for the night. She swallowed her disappointment. He was nothing special in bed, thought that his unusual endurance made him some kind of hero. And his type were _never _gentle. She was going to be sore tomorrow. But she didn't mind, grinding and rolling and providing all the sound effects he liked, as she turned the flicker of insight over in her head. _Master of your own destiny. Get ahead of the game..._

_...and you're immortal._

_-_

12 eliminated, 30 to go...


	10. Chapter 10

Kazuo Kiriyama opened his eyes.

He was lying on his back, on a bed. The room was dark - not the hospital - and above him, he heard the metallic clang of boots, back and forth, in a continuous circuit. The smell in the air was worn linoleum, boiled food of some description, the smell of repressed violence.

Prison.

Sometimes there were voices, too - laughter, even. Convict camaraderie. They were talking about the kind of things his gang used to talk about.

Perhaps he slept again. When he woke, there was the sharp tangy smell of a contraband cigarette being quietly smoked in the next cell, and two men were talking, on the other side of the wall. Through the opiate haze, he heard: "...then I punched the fucker's face flat. Don't give a shit if I get put in solitary. He had it coming..."

_He had it coming_. Mitsuru used to say that kind of thing, usually after doing something very similar. Kazuo thought, suddenly, of the faces he'd bashed in, the bones he'd broken... the eyes and hands and soft bodies... human things that he'd destroyed.

He felt the bile move in his throat and jerked towards the wall to be sick. It was as if his body was trying to rid itself of the deep revulsion that he felt, for the first time in his life directed towards himself. He lay there, face pressed to the concrete, shivering.

_All those people..._

The guards' cyclic pacing stopped, turning back towards his cell. There was a key in the lock and footsteps on the stairs. "Get the fucking medic in here! He's convulsing!" someone shouted down the corridor. But Kazuo could not hear any more.

For a few moments, there was absolutely nothing, like before. Then, the colours and the feelings came back. He thought they'd given him a shot of something by the light stinging in his arm, but couldn't be sure. He remained perfectly still, eyes closed.

"I still think he was brought here too soon," said the doctor. "He's in no fit state... he needs round-the-clock care, for the psychological damage as much as the physical... head injuries are not like other injuries…"

"You tell me about psychological damage - well, he's scum, and that's all there is to it. No police record, of course - the really evil bastards never have one - but look." There was a rustle as paper was unfolded.

"He had them all in order. It's like a school shooting, but in slow motion. This is cold, premeditated work. Complete and utter psycho and clever to boot. You take him back to the hospital, he'll get out..."

"May I remind you, the charges against my client are, as yet, unproven. He wrote his _own name _on the list," The only female voice, presumably that of his lawyer, cut through the fog. He felt kindness behind her cold words. He wanted to speak to her, if only to thank her for representing him. But the drug was kicking in, and his tensed limbs went slack, the world around him fading to grey.

"Yeah," said the officer. "Unproven. And they usually suicide before the end. Proof'll turn up before too much longer. It always does... and you've seen the _tapes. _Tell me, has anyone else out of his school come to a nasty end since we had him in custody?"

She didn't have an answer for that.

-

"So... Kawada, right? Planning on explaining anything or do we just sit here in silence?"

Shogo shifted the car into third. The weather had improved, but the road was still steep and winding, and his silence was mainly concentration on keeping them on the road.

"Look..." he said. "Before we start, want to make it clear I don't have all the answers. There's still a hell of a lot that makes no sense to me."

"If you've even got some of the answers, that'd be a start," said Shuya. "It'd be an improvement on what we've got."

"Right," said Shogo, digging in his pocket for his packet of Wild Sevens. "We were going to be on the Program."

He said it so suddenly, so calmly, that it took them a while to understand.

"What, you mean... our class?"

"On the Program?"

"How did you find that out? It's top-secret, and their security is the shit... no hobbyist hacker's getting in there," said Shinji.

"I'm no hobbyist." Shogo turned round fractionally in the driver's seat. "None of you recognise me, do you? Suppose I've changed a bit since then. Scar's healed over, new haircut, all that jazz. Saves unwarranted questions. Anyway... I'm what Shuya here would have been. I'm the winner. Last year's, in fact."

There was another stunned silence.

"You're the winner?"

"Yeah, I'm the winner. Jeez, is there an echo in here or something? Before you ask... I won the normal way. It's not what I would have chosen, but back then, I had a reason to do it. Anyway, they got me, gave me a weapon, I did what I was told, and I won. This time round, I thought I'd go back in, try a bit of revenge. You know, been through it once, I can do it again, except this time, I'll have time to do my research. Enough to fuck them over well and good for what they did to me. So I got into their databases, read and memorised everything that was useful, from the weapon pool to the collar specs, and got myself transferred into your class." He sighed, lighting up a cigarette while guiding the steering wheel with his elbow. "Seems like it wasn't meant to be. I'm pretty sure my plan wasn't discovered, so it must have been that bridge collapse that stopped us getting put through the Program. Anyway, so far, so normal. I was thinking I'd try again next year, no sweat, if there's a will there's a way and I don't mind waiting. Then you lot start dying."

Shogo paused, flipping on his indicator and turning off the motorway. "This is where it starts getting complicated. I mean, for a good while, I didn't believe it. It was only once this List turned up, and the freak accidents carried on as predicted, I began to think... hell, I still don't know what I think. I thought I believed in free will and self-determination. Anyway, what appears to be happening is that we're getting killed off, in the order that we would have died on the Program."

"Well..." Shinji was the first to break the silence. "It makes sense."

"In a kind of non-sense-making way," qualified Yutaka. "I'm number twenty-four. Not bad, for the five-foot wonder. Guys like me usually don't last five minutes. I wonder what would've happened?"

"I just don't see how it could be possible," said Hiroki, frowning. "I admit that it all makes sense, and the List is right so far, it's just... hard to swallow."

"This is something Keiko told me about. I ripped on her about it at the time, but now, I'm glad she did," said Shogo. "Never mind who she is. But she said that there was this theory that if the universe is infinite, there is an infinite number of parallel worlds with an infinite number of possibilities and small differences. For example, there's probably a world which is exactly the same as this one, except my car is red instead of blue. Or in which America won the war, and we're going for a burger and fries without a care in the world. There's one where Shuya's destined to be the greatest rock star the world has ever seen, there's another where he's a druggie burn-out."

"Thanks…" said Shuya, looking put out.

"Don't take it personally. So," continued Shogo, "if this theory is right, there's a world where that bridge didn't collapse - where we got to where we were going, and went on the Program. In that timeline, we were all meant to die. If that reality exists, and we exist too... it's possible there's been some kind of overlap. A confusion of realities. Even though we didn't actually go on the Program, at the point where we were on the bridge about to cross, the two timelines came so close together that some things got confused. We got their fate and they got ours. So to iron things out and get them parallel again, Fate - or whatever you call it - is killing us off in this reality in order for the other one to make sense."

"That is mind-bending," said Shinji.

"Well, look on the bright side. It's better than being in the other reality, where we went on the Program but, I assume, came back to life again," said Shogo, quirking his mouth.

"Do you mean… _zombies_?" Yutaka was agape.

"I have no idea. It's only a theory and might be complete shit. But wouldn't it be interesting if it was right? It means Shuya would have won the Program. Congratulations are in order, I think."

Shuya could only stare. He slowly shook his head as the implications whizzed around in his mind.

"No dice, Kawada. There's no way I would do that. Ever. Kill all my friends, just like that? Just to win? It's not a game!"

Shogo shrugged. "A game is exactly what it is, but not everyone follows the rules. Maybe you played like me, for survival, or maybe you did it because you wanted to. I don't know you that well, not well enough to judge. But from what I've seen, I'm guessing you played for survival. Shu the psychopath? It just doesn't fit. Maybe you just got lucky and had victory thrust upon you."

"So just because I won in the other version, it doesn't mean I actually killed anyone?" Shuya brightened. "So I could've won just by chance, or luck, or whatever? Maybe your plan to beat the Program worked after all, and all it means is that we all died of old age in the other reality."

"Not quite." Shogo passed the List back to Shuya. "Someone played the game. That's why people are dying now, not in forty, fifty years or whatnot. I wasn't planning _escape_. I just wanted to show them that I could screw over their system - I know the collar specs, remember? I'd have deactivated them, instead of playing, and given them twenty-odd winners. Anyway, unless there was some sort of mass-suicide pact, you probably wouldn't have ended up as the last man standing without doing anything. There'd have been at least one person left in endgame, and chances are they were one of the hardcore ones. By that point, the survival instinct is too strong. You play." Shogo's face darkened. "Trust me, I know."

Shuya traced the list with his thumb, from his name at the bottom to the names before him. "It's me, then Noriko. Does that mean..."

"Yeah. Noriko Nakagawa. At best - meaning, morally, involving the least number of kills on your part - you killed her. Maybe she was trying to kill you. Maybe she was your ally. I'm not going to speculate _why _you did it, but in the other reality, I died, my escape plan got fucked up, nobody escaped, you won the game. Maybe you killed me too, maybe not. But you definitely killed Nakagawa. And there's nothing you can do to change that."

-

The desk was a mess of scissors and glue, notebooks with barely legible squiggles, and half-finished probability trees. On top of everything was a plate of crackers and cheese, as well as a can of cola, long-abandoned. Kyoichi Motobuchi (Male Student #20) was pulling his first ever all-nighter. This time, the outcome was rather more important than a school exam. Once Tatsumichi Ooki was confirmed dead - and it was only a matter of time - Motobuchi was next.

He traced circles in the margin with his pencil as he thought. Then, he wrote:

_Hypothesis: intelligence gets you to the end of the list. _

No. The arrangement was too random, too many pieces of aberrant data. Although the cleverer students tended to score above average, the correlation was not strong enough to draw a solid conclusion. Anyway, he himself only ranked 29th out of 42 on this List, which smarted. He was consistently in the top five across the board, sometimes even number one, if Kiriyama didn't show up. It couldn't be that.

_Hypothesis: it's some form of physical evaluation. _

Unlikely. The biggest, burliest guys in the class mostly got killed off early, while the top ten was scattered with wispy girls. Souma was more tits than muscles, and could shrimpy Noriko Nakagawa beat the hulking man-mountain Shogo Kawada? Give me a break.

Kyoichi Motobuchi bit the end of his pencil in frustration, then wrote:

_Hypothesis: It's all completely random. _

Maybe random distribution was the only way to make sense of the List. And even that had flaws. It'd be an unusual random generator that, by chance, threw Class B's two dating couples together, as well as creating a near-perfect rendering of the Kiriyama gang and Yukie Utsumi's... nice gang. Whatever they were.

This gave him an idea. He wrote:

_Hypothesis: Niceness? _

No: inverted niceness. A list of evil in ascending order. Daft, lovable Yoshitoki, caring Fumiyo and Mayumi, harmless Akamatsu... yes... hardcore Soma and Kiriyama finishing in the top 5. There were a few blips, of course: the Kiriyama gang getting eliminated so early, with Noriko and Shuya, of all people, apparently the winners. Hidden depths?

Perhaps their niceness was a front?

Then, there was a noise in the room. A crackling, staticky sound, apparently emanating from the old television in the corner. The hairs on Kyoichi Motobuchi's neck stood up. He didn't think he'd left it on, and not on that channel…

"...and after a blistering battle that lasted two days, thirteen hours and seven minutes, all but one of Class E of…" There was a static buzz. "…have been eliminated. This year, several records have been broken, including number of kills by one individual contestant..."

Kyoichi jumped to his feet, knocking over his half-empty coke can. Sticky dark liquid ran down the chair leg and pooled on the floor. How did the television turn itself on? That had to be impossible without someone pressing the button...

"... we are here live at Shiroiwa Military Academy, where the lucky winner is about to disembark from the helicopter which has carried them directly from the field of battle."

Huh. The Program. Violence porn (and sometimes, actual porn) playing to the lowest common denominator. Not his cup of tea. He turned it off, and turned his back.

"...many new records this year, including the first successfully-completed consensual sexual act, involving the yet-to-be-announced winner, and unlucky runner-up Yukino Matsui... so can we infer that our winner is male?"

Irritated, and beginning to feel afraid, Motobuchi pulled the plug out at the wall. With a satisfying electronic blip, the screen went black. He didn't have _time_ to be screwing about with misbehaving televisions. He had his life to save. But now he was distracted and he'd lost his chain of thought. _Fucking Program,_ he thought venomously. _It's messed everything up. _

There was an electronic hiss as the television screen flickered to life again, impossibly.

"We are authorised to inform you that our winner, issued with a Smith & Wesson M19 revolver, completed the Program in near-record time, making a staggering nineteen individual kills. Oh, they're opening the doors... the winner is coming out... it's... he's... It's the class president! Boy #1, Yukio Inoue, is the winner! What a true show of leadership!"

But the face on the screen, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was Motobuchi's.

His yell of horror was entirely involuntary. Kyoichi Motobuchi's entire body jerked away from the possessed television, wanting to put distance between his own body and the uncanny other self, standing there, slim and diminutive amid the soldiers, blood-spattered, grinning. His heel slid on the spilt coke, sending him careering across the floor. Elbows slammed into the wardrobe, which toppled, pinning him to the desk.

Clumsy idiot, Motobuchi thought. He blinked.

_Tried_ to blink. His vision was red and oddly unfocused, and there was something getting in the way of the eyelid. It said 'HB' on the side.

There is a pencil in my eye, he thought, perfectly calmly. I must have fallen against my desk-tidy and impaled my head on a pencil, helped by the weight of the wardrobe, which probably weighs more than I do. So, I am trapped... and... dead?

_Looks that way._

_Fucking Program._

On the TV screen, Yukio Inoue's father came forward to congratulate his son. As Motobuchi quietly bled to death, the blood-spattered boy and the government director walked away arm in arm.

-

13 eliminated, 29 to go…


End file.
